Writing Aspirations

Writing a Synopsis

2006-06-03T16:26:40Z

Writing a synopsis, as my old high school chums would say, “sucks ass”.

The very act of taking 150,000 words and condensing it all into something brief yet insightful is laborious and definitely not fun.

You know, there’s a lot of shit you have to put up just to get your novel considered for publication. It doesn’t help matters when every agent and editor has his or her own guidelines. Snail mail only. E-mail only. Snail mail or e-mail. Synopsis. No synopsis. Query. No query. First fifty pages. First five pages (I’m still pondering that one). Sometimes, it feels as though I’m being tested on my ability to follow instructions. Oh, if you write well, that’s a bonus.

And they would prefer you not to simultaneously submit. Kind of stacked against a writer, don’t you think? I suspect successful, established writers, in turn, force the powers that be to jump through hoops. But that might be just a perverted fantasy of mine.

So, how did I finish my synopsis? First, I’ll tell you how not to do it. Do not go page by page through your novel with foolish notion that you'll be able to summarize in anything remotely concise. The end result will be something quite a bit longer than a summary. You’ll suffer from myopia, unable to distinguish between the gold and the pyrite. Personally, I consider every word I write part of overall tapestry. I really don’t like fillers, respecting my reader’s time and commitment. It makes it difficult to leave anything out.

So what I did was step away. Forget for a while. Without referencing the novel, write the synopsis first. And then, and only then, after completing the draft, use the novel to shore up anything missing or misrepresented.

Or you can write a shorter novel. That might make it easier.

Facts to date in this writer’s life!

Novel submission results (3 so far):
- 1 rejection with positive feedback
- 1 submission sans reply
- 1 submission pending reply

Books recently read:
- The Mind Reading Monster Hercules Barefoot, His Wonderful Love, and His Terrible Hatred, by Carl-Johan Vallgren (an interesting read, but won’t be everyone’s cup of tea)
- Anansi Boys, by Neil Gaiman (great book; beginning better than ending, but still great)
- The Ramayana: A Modern Retelling of the Great Indian Epic, by Ramesh Menon (this book is pure poetry; I find the plot of the Mahabharata to be slightly more interesting)
- Darwin’s Radio and Darwin’s Children, by Greg Bear (...eh...)
- The Speed of Dark, by Elizabeth Moon (ending is a bit too clean, but a decent book)
- The Big Sleep, by Raymond Chandler (this cat can write!)

Books in progress:
- The Wizard, by Gene Wolf
- Don Quixote, by Miguel de Cervantes

My Nightwatch story

2005-10-05T00:57:28Z

Over a year ago, in a moment of childlike naivety, I volunteered to write a story for Nightwatch. Something simple. Something I could churn out in a few weeks. Since then, I have pored through nearly a dozen books. I have visited bizarre websites (over forty which are bookmarked). I have spent time researching Islam and Sufism, England and stone circles, the London subway system and Kashmiri chai. I still hear the ’sama in my sleep. I’ve adapted what I learned to an existing universe, which is akin to carving your own jigsaw puzzle pieces and hoping it all somehow fits together. And finally, I chose to get sick as the deadline loomed, just because further stress keeps the creative juices flowing.

There’s an old industry saying that you stick to writing what you know.

Unless, of course, you’re like me.

(BTW, check out my story "The Sin Watcher" in the October issue of Aphelion: http://www.aphelion-webzine.com)

May 2005 - The Best of Times, the Worst of Times

2005-06-17T18:16:38Z

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...”

- Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities

She picks the most beautiful day to die. It is May 1^st, and the sun shines with such clarity that it bathes the world in a surreal glow. Simmons sits on my lap, every plaintive mews tearing at my heart, as my fiancé and I push through the traffic toward the animal hospital. We both know it is the end and the dread grows within us as we near our destination. Simmons had been sick for quite a while, probably since her birth seven years ago. Still, even with that knowledge, even with the rationale of understanding, it is not everyday you escort your best friend to the death that awaits her. I cry as I hold her.
	May 28^th turns out to be a perfect day for a wedding, the rain we fear never materializing. The overcast relieves us from the scorching sun and provides ideal lighting for the photographers. The mix of faces, of family and friends, beams at us with their smiles. Tejal looks beautiful, the joyful tears in her eyes shining bright. I feel nervous. I am not one to bring attention to myself and all eyes seem to be upon me. I flub my vows immediately and we all laugh, and suddenly it is fun and exciting and my anxiety dissipates like a fragile soul ascending heaven.
I remember Simmons as perfect, a pretty, white cat, her temperament gentle but mischievous. She loved people and people loved her, even dog lovers. If she could not sit on my lap or lay on my chest, she would idle nearby, content just being near me, following me from room to room. She also possessed fearlessness, bullying the dog or stranger cats, climbing a tree twenty feet above the hard deck, bounding from the trunk and twisting in midair to land so nimble upon that lofty roof. If chastised for a wrong, she returned minutes later, seeking forgiveness. She also had a sense of humor and forgave you in turn. I’d like to think that she forgives me from I am about to do next.
	Chaplain Kilpatrick is wonderful. His humor eases everyone, especially the jittery couple before him. I project my voice (surprising people since I’m normally very subdued) and my words carry through the afternoon sky as I repeat my vows. I feel the Future holding out her welcoming arms even as I remain enchanted in the Present. A harmony blankets us all, a mix of heritages from America, from India, from Korea, from Everywhere. As our vows near the end, I sense a beginning to a long journey ahead, and I smile at the uncertainty of it all.
I scratch her head, one last time, her paws kneading the air helplessly, her body starving for oxygen. Tejal, by my side, cries with me as I repeat again and again the words, “I’m sorry.” I remove her collar and place it within the pocket of my shirt, close to my heart. The vet pushes the plunger down and it ends faster than I can imagine. And all those seven years of her life, short but powerful, crash down upon me, a wave of sorrow and regret.
	Brett, my best man, hands me the ring and Tejal and I are one. He gives me the necklace for Celine-- my new daughter-- and together we are a family. We are complete. The Chaplain pronounces us man and wife, and we walk down the path arm-in-arm. Celine jumps on Brett’s back and they follow. Everyone claps, everyone laughs. Some even shed tears of happiness for us. I have never been happier, feeling Simmon’s collar strapped around my wrist underneath my shirt and tuxedo, her spirit beside me once again.

May was the worst of months, May was the best of months. It began as an ending, and ended as a beginning. I still miss Simmons very much, and I suspect as time goes by, the hurt will fade, even though it may never disappear altogether.

And when Past’s gloom gets too much for me, my wandering mind mistaking a white lump as an old companion, I wrap my arms around my wife, my love, and take comfort. I take comfort that this is life and that we are part of it.

A Long, Long Time Ago...

2005-04-27T14:59:18Z

A long, long time ago (a year and a half, to be exact), in a draft far, far away, I submitted to an agent the first part of my fantasy novel. I knew it not ready at the time. The second part had not even been started yet, and no sane publisher would accept what was at the time a massive cliff-hanger. The first part was also still a bit rough. I would need to spend some time polishing it. However, at the behest of my girlfriend and others, I sent in my 72,000 words since they believed in it. I then promptly forgot about the whole thing and went about living my life.

In the time since, I addressed the issues I had with the first part. I tightened the pacing. I added 4,000 words. I went on and finished the second part, another 73,000 words later. Everything seemed complete (except for the epilogue, but does that really count?... hush now) and I planned on seeking an agent toward the end of summer, after my marriage and the summer vacations that these agents seemed to enjoy.

And lo and behold, 18 months afterwards, I received a reply from that agent that I submitted to all those months ago. She brought up the same issues I had and, of course, rejected my manuscript, albeit with the comment scribbled at the end:

Very promising + I will pass to an agent that specializes in Sci. fiction/Fantasy.

It's nice to have affirmation, even the guise of a rejection letter...

I can see the end, and I'm ready for it

2005-03-02T20:56:41Z

I can see the end of my novel approaching and I'm looking forward to finishing. I've become tired of the whole thing, the endless words and revisions, going all the way back to March 31st, 2001, when I started the first novel Harvest Moon. I'm ready to move on now. Try other things. I'm a bit sad and, to be honest, a bit concerned that I lack the enthusiasm to complete it properly. I can see the plot wrapping up in my mind's eye. I've watched Eucheron confront his past, finally accept his fate even as the world's fate unravels. I enjoyed Pilana being by his side, one moment a rock, another a burr, but always there for him as his stalwart friend. I shed a tear for the ones who didn't make it to the end, caught up in the tide of events. I witnessed Arzo and Xan, in so many ways alike, and yet never so different. I laughed at their adventures, all of them, and expressed frustration with their stubbornness or lack of foresight, only to remember we all are a bit like them, at times great, other times greatly flawed.

I can see the end approaching. It's been a long time coming.

Balancing My Writing Life

2005-01-24T19:38:28Z

A strange thing happens when I focus on my novels. I suddenly disappear. Novel writing is a time-consuming process, taking months or years for the end result. It's especially cumbersome when you have a full-time job. Another thing on my plate is a serial episode I'm due to publish for Aphelion Webzine in August. That's taking up a lot of cycles in itself. When I get into situations like this, I tend not to write any stories. My output seems to drop since I'm no longer producing finished results on a timely basis. Granted, it's an illusion. I'm actually writing more than less. But it does bother me somewhat. Stories are an important aspect of my writing and I don't wish for them to go neglected.

So here's my compromise to myself. I will submit at least one story per month to a paying publication/contest. That way, I don't neglect my stories, and since I have a backlog of unpublished ones, I can still focus primarily on my novels and Aphelion. To help free up some more time, I will not participate in the Georgia Writers Association monthly contest. I'm okay with that as long as I'm writing because, in the end, that's what matters most.

Early morning inspiration

2004-12-20T19:16:44Z

It's four o'clock in the morning. My fiancè is sleeping soundly next to me. As I'm drifting off to the land of nonsensical, I suddenly discover a glaring plot hole. Fearing I would forget the little tidbit, I groggily swung my feet out of bed and lumbered downstairs. I grab my black journal where I keep my notes for my novel and jot down:

December 7th, 2004

Kestin needs to be upset that Razakonan is leaving
-> Contradicts his view of the Prophecy
-> Goes slightly mad
-> Pilana bonks him on the head with one of his books
-> Eucheron: "Pil, couldn't you have used one of the thinner books?"

As I slipped back in bed, I heard my fiancè groan in frustration as I woke her up... again.

I don't know about you, but I wouldn't have patience living with a writer.

A sudden realization that could affect a ton of work

2004-11-24T21:21:44Z

Blithely, I plodded along, writing out an extensive section where one of the main characters, Xan, joins a mercenary outfit hired by the Terregorn army. I knew a pivotal scene was coming up, where Xan would confront his fears and regain a sense of self-confidence, sorely shaken by the events concluding the first novel. He would need that inner strength to pursue a critical plotline I had roughly sketched out.

The scene needed Xan to act heroically. To allow him to confront the situation by himself, I placed the episode on the other side of the river, away from the two opposing armies (Terregorn and Ruchian). To get him over there, I thought up an idea that the army needed to build a bridge across the river. With winter coming up, the river would likely freeze over. The army could not allow themselves to be outflanked by the numerically advantaged Ruchian forces. They needed a rapid way to get from one side to the other.

So by having Xan assist in the building of the bridge, it was a simple matter to have him be placed on guard duty once the foundation had reached the other bank. Currently ostracized by his fellow mercenaries, he wanders off by himself and confronts a Ruchian party keen on sabotaging the work on the bridge. Xan overcomes them when his magic finally returns. His fellow mercs, discovering that he has single-handedly defeated a group that would probably have ambushed them, suddenly accept him with open arms. "Burrbelly", they call him fondly. So begins the chain of events. I cackled with glee at my mastery of the plot.

And then... I looked at the map. It's important to have a map, especially in these sprawling fantasy novels where your characters split up and travel many days in many directions. I noticed that I had placed the town near a wide point of the river, opening up into something akin to a lake. My stomach twisted. This had serious repercussions. I wanted the armies close together: the Ruchians within the town and the Terregorns camped to the south of them. I had used the towering peaks of the Gray Mountains to safeguard the Terregorn army, but that would be for naught if the Ruchians could easily outflank them on the frozen river. Also, it seemed a bit silly to build a bridge across a lake. The Terregorns are pretty resourceful, very loosely based on the Romans, but to construct something that quickly with a hostile army a thousand yards away was downright impossible. So I'm impacted in multiple ways. Not only does it affect the current twist with Xan, but everything that's led up to it!

Now I could move the army south where the river narrows. That moved Xan further from the town, complicating future sequences. Not implausible, but I would have to rewrite much of the second novel (I'm at about 30,000 words so far). I felt I had the right balance in terms of pacing, a very difficult item when you have three major storylines running concurrently, and to rewrite major portions just irked me to no end.

Gritting my teeth, I sat down and did what needed doing.
.
.
.

I redrew the map, of course. :-)

A general introduction

2004-11-18T19:53:50Z

“The last thing people want is to meet you, because they’ve already explained who you are. Then you come along and say, ‘No, I didn’t do it that on purpose- it was an accident.’ So they take to avoiding me and pretending I’m not there.”
- Michael Moorcock, Locus #506

The most difficult thing for me is writing the beginning of a story, to capture those sparse words that will ensnare the reader’s attention. Other writers have problems with the ending. Some cannot invent a title if their life depended upon it (a seemingly trivial yet unbelievably difficult endeavor). But I suffer through the beginning. I suspect this journal to be the same.

So how do I overcome that? By writing about my trouble with beginnings, of course. We writers are famed for turning our misfortunes into tools of the trade.

That out of the way, let me state why I’m doing this. I decided to create this journal to chronicle my adventures in becoming an established writer, to give a glimpse on my thought processes. Be forewarned. Writers disagree on nearly everything. What’s acceptable to me is verboten to another. Some prefer formulaic methods. Others, more literary. Some are minimalists. A few write with a flowery, organic style. There are as many styles to writing as there are writers. That’s a good thing. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

My journal entries will probably be sporadic. I tend to write in spurts. I have this thing called a day job that tends to vacuum up a good portion of my time. So if you don’t hear from me, be a bit patient. I may procrastinate but I tend to get the job done... eventually.

-jaimie